


and they come unstuck

by estrella30



Category: One Direction (Band), Pop Music RPF, Taylor Swift (Musician)
Genre: F/M, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 04:40:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3106280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/estrella30/pseuds/estrella30
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s at the bottom of the stoop, staring up at her with wide eyes and a small smile quirking his lips. His hair is pulled back tight under a black knit hat and his eyes are bright green. Taylor’s not seen him in person for so long she can barely remember when the last time was. It was probably at some sort of industry function; an awards show or a dinner. Something like that. Not that it matters really. They were together and then they weren’t and then they were friends and now they’re… whatever it is that they’ve fallen into now. Acquaintances, Taylor thinks would be the best word. Acquaintances with close friends in common. </p><p> </p><p>or -  harry/taylor futurefic</p>
            </blockquote>





	and they come unstuck

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hostagesfic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hostagesfic/gifts).



> for my darling S who wanted haylor futurefic, I hope you like this my darling!!
> 
> thanks to bec as always for the beta and cheerleading. any remaining mistakes are completely my own. 
> 
> title from Riptide by Vance Joy bc it is the haylor theme song of my HEART. if you are or know anyone depicted in this fic please do not read it thaaaaaanks.

*

 

 

Taylor steps out the front door of her apartment and into the dull, grey drizzle of the afternoon. Sometimes it feels like she’ll never really get used to New York City in the fall no matter how many years she lives here. When the sun is out and the air is sharp and crisp there’s nothing more beautiful, but on days like today when it’s been sprinkling rain for hours it’s miserable; a bone deep chill that cuts through the air, making her shiver despite all of her layers of clothes. 

She pauses on the top step to adjust her hat and pull it down further over her ears. She’s got an umbrella with her - bright purple print with pictures of cat faces all over it that her agent got her for Christmas last year - but it doesn’t feel like the kind of rain that needs one. It’s not big fat drops drowning everything around her, but a thin mist just barely covering everything like a blanket. 

Taylor looks up into the dark sky and blinks. Raindrops catch on her bangs and she tightens the belt on her coat and settles her hand on the wet rail. She’s just taken her first step down when she looks over and sees him standing there. 

He’s at the bottom of the stoop, staring up at her with wide eyes and a small smile quirking his lips. His hair is pulled back tight under a black knit hat and his eyes are bright green. Taylor’s not seen him in person for so long she can barely remember when the last time was. It was probably at some sort of industry function; an awards show or a dinner. Something like that. Not that it matters really. They were together and then they weren’t and then they were friends and now they’re… whatever it is that they’ve fallen into now. Acquaintances, Taylor thinks would be the best word. Acquaintances with close friends in common. 

“Hi,” Harry says. He’s chewing a piece of gum and grinning like he’s letting her in on a secret. She can hear things off in the distance - the sound of a car door slamming shut and the blare of a horn - but her street is fairly quiet. She looks around, peering over his shoulder to see if he’s got anyone with him but he seems to be alone. Out in secret it is then. 

“Hello,” she says, voice even and sure. 

“I’m in New York now,” Harry says. He takes a step forward and rests one foot on her bottom step. 

“I can see that,” Taylor answers. She makes her way down to meet him at the bottom of the stairs. The rain is still falling and her gloves are damp and Harry is standing in front of her, close enough that the toes of their boots touch. 

He reaches out and pulls on the ends of her hair. He’s got a silver band circling his index finger and some kind of twisty thing with a stone in the center on the finger next to it. He flicks his eyes up to hers and grins easily. 

“You let your hair grow back out.”

Taylor cocks her head to the side and raises one eyebrow. “There’s certainly nothing getting by you today, is there, Styles.”

Harry laughs at that - a loud, booming laugh that he puts his whole chest and face into. Taylor shakes her head because apparently it doesn’t matter how much time has passed, Harry seems to be as ridiculous of a human as he always was. Of course, he can be sexy and mysterious and dashing when he wants. But this right here, Harry being corny and fun and laughing at himself, was always Taylor’s downfall. 

“I like it,” he says. He’s got more lines around his eyes and his mouth seems wider somehow and all things considered, piece by piece Harry was never really her type. Too bad that’s never seemed to matter much. 

He tugs on her hair again and takes a small step back. “Are you on your way out?”

Taylor stares at him and gestures from herself to the street and the umbrella in her hand. Her security guard discreetly clears his throat and Harry gives him a jaunty wave from where he’s hovering protectively over Taylor’s shoulder. Taylor rolls her eyes at them both. 

“Right, right,” Harry says easily. “Out in the rain with the full entourage. You must be going somewhere. It was a stupid question again, I know.”

“It’s fine, Harry,” Taylor says. She pats his arm and gives him a pitying look. “I know things like this can be confusing. People always go outside in the rain with their umbrellas for no reason at all. Just to stand around and get wet. It’s the newest fad, I’ve heard.”

Harry is grinning at her, smiling like she’s the most clever person in the world. She wishes it wasn’t affecting her; she’d give away a million dollars and half her awards for that to be the actual truth. Taylor took a vow a long time ago though, to stop lying to herself about things that matter and she’s not about to start back up now. 

“ _Where_ are you going?” Harry asks, then backtracks when she lifts her eyebrows at him and adds, “If you don’t mind my asking.”

Taylor nods and takes her hand off his arm. “I was actually heading out to get some things to make cookies,” Taylor tells him. She looks back up into the sky and frowns at the clouds hovering low and looking darker by the second. “It’s gross out and I was bored.”

“Ahh.” Harry nods and steps back. He’s got his hands behind his back and he blinks up as if just noticing the rain that’s been falling for hours. “That sounds fun.”

“It will be,” Taylor says and looks down the street. She bites her lip and thinks about how stupid this is and how much she doesn’t need this in her life and how easy it would be to say goodbye to Harry right now and have this be it. She’d go to the store like she was planning and come back and call Karlie up and tell her all about seeing Harry in the street outside her apartment like this is a total normal thing. He’d show up in the papers in the next day or so and Taylor could think, _oh, that’s right, he’s here_ and then go on with her writing and recording and hanging out with her cats. 

She takes one step away from him and stops. It would be so easy to do all of those things, but when it comes down to it she doesn’t want to. That’s another thing she’s made herself stop doing: if there’s something that she wants to do she needs to let herself just _do_ it.

When she turns back Harry’s standing in the same place that she left him, his eyes still fixed on her. She meets his gaze and smiles and he smiles back and walks up to her. 

“Would you like to join me?” Taylor asks. 

Harry grins and ducks his head and walks with her down the street.

*

Harry’s bought a place in New York, which Taylor had heard through Selena or Ed or someone like that. She hadn’t known where though, until Harry showed her when they were walking to the Whole Foods at the end of her street. 

“That’s it,” he’d said, pointing out a tall, old, brownstone two blocks over from hers. He was beaming when he showed her; his face more open and relaxed than she’s remembered ever seeing. “Well I mean, that’s the top of it at least.”

It’s close to Taylor’s place. _Very_ close. “Congratulations,” Taylor tells him, then grins teasingly. “Just couldn’t stand to be away from me again, huh? First the house in LA, now this…”

Harry laughs happily and bumps his shoulder into hers as they walk. 

They wind up buying enough ingredients to make about ten different types of cookies because neither of them can decide what they feel like having when they get to the baking aisle. Taylor grabs bags of chopped nuts and chocolate chips and Harry adds in coconut and some kind of date puree Taylor thinks looks disgusting. She sticks her tongue out and vows to not eat anything with purple muck mixed inside it. 

Harry pays and then carries the bags back to her apartment. It’s nice. There’s nothing stilted or awkward about it, they just talk and laugh and jump over puddles the rain has made in the uneven streets. 

When they get to Taylor’s building she waves to the doorman and gestures for Harry to follow her inside and into the wide, private elevator at the end of the hall. Harry runs his fingers over the ornate buttons and grating and then the doors are sliding open and she’d leading him over to her front door, the key sliding easily into the lock. 

The second the door opens, they’re pounced on by two over excited cats. 

“Oh!” Harry says. He finds open space on the table in her hall to put the bags on, then crouches down to scratch Olivia behind the ears and rub Peggy’s belly when she rolls over onto her back with her legs in the air. Harry looks up when Taylor’s taking off her coat and hat, his face bright and mouth split into a beaming grin. “When did you get this one?” 

“A few months ago,” Taylor says. She shakes out the ends of her damp hair and plucks Harry’s hat from his head, laying it over the heater to dry. “Because touring with two cats wasn’t crazy enough so I needed to add a third.”

Harry laughs. “She’s so cute though,” he says. Peggy squirms around on her back until she’s on unsteady feet then bumps her face against Harry’s hand for more scratches. She’s completely shameless. Taylor’s got Olivia, who is insane, and now Peggy who is easy for anyone who’ll scratch her belly. No wonder all Meredith does these days is lie around on the couch and silently judge them all. 

“What’s she called?” Harry asks. 

Taylor looks at him from where she’s zoned out watching Meredith smack Olivia on the head where they’re both sitting in front of the fireplace. 

“What?”

“Her name,” Harry says. 

“Oh. It’s Peggy,” Taylor says slowly. She feels as if she’s been put in slow motion, everything about this day pushing her just a little bit more off kilter. Harry always did have a way of doing that. Taylor’s not sure if she’s relieved or worried that things seem to have not changed between them at all over the years.

“What’s her full name though,” Harry asks. He stands up and takes off his jacket, handing it over when Taylor wiggles her fingers at him. “You’ve got Meredith Grey and Olivia Benson, yeah?”

And oh. _Oh_. “Yeah.” Taylor feels herself smile and drops her eyes. “Yeah, that’s right. I didn’t realize you knew that.”

It’s jarring almost, to realize Harry knows things about her. Small things. Personal things. Because while she understands that anyone with an internet connection and working fingers could know the full names of her cats too, there’s something about it being Harry - something about the fact that _Harry_ knows or remembers - that stuns her silent. 

“She’s, uhm, Peggy Carter,” Taylor finally says. She steps around where Harry is standing and goes into the kitchen, flicking on all the lights and leaning her hands against the edge of the counter. She needs to get her act together, here. There’s no reason why all these years later a few well timed smiles and words from Harry Styles should be throwing her for this much of a loop. 

She looks back into the hall in time to see Harry leaning over, with his hand extended to Peggy’s ink black paw. “Well hello, Agent Carter,” Harry says seriously. Peggy bats at his hand and Harry laughs. “It’s good to meet you too.”

Taylor closes her eyes and hopes she’s not going to see Harry leaning over to talk to her cat in the middle of her dreams for the rest of her life. She has a feeling she’s not going to be too successful.

*

It becomes a thing, then. It’s not an official thing and it’s not a serious thing. It’s just a thing where sometimes Harry will call her and sometimes they’ll meet for coffee or for lunch and sometimes they stay up way too late at night texting or talking or sending each other snippets of things they’re both busy writing. Taylor’s on break after her last tour and getting ready to start recording, and Harry’s off being Harry, writing with people and joining Ed for a few shows here and there and basically keeping his face as into or out of the papers as he chooses. 

New York, as it’s always turned out, is a terrific place to practice hiding in plain sight. 

“I think you’re crazy,” Karlie tells Taylor one night when they’re sitting on Taylor’s floor, knees curled up under the coffee table and drinking glasses of wine. Taylor’s got her hair pulled up and she’s been thinking about cutting it again, something super short, like what Emma Watson did a few years back. She’s not sure she’ll go through with it but it’s fun to imagine. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Taylor says. 

Karlie raises her eyebrows and prods at Taylor’s thigh with her toes. They’d gone for pedicures before dinner and Karlie picked a red so dark it looks nearly black. Taylor pinches her ankle and Karlie giggles and squirms away. 

“I’m talking about Haaaaaaarry,” Karlie says. They’d not known each other the first time Harry and Taylor did whatever it was they did all those years back, but Karlie knows everything Taylor’s ever thought about him anyway. The perils of being Taylor’s best friend at its finest. 

“And I don’t know, I just--” Karlie trails off. Her shirt is loose and falls down over one shoulder. Candles flicker in the room around them and Taylor’s thoughts go unbidden to wondering what Harry would look like here right now. She wonders how the color of his skin would glow in the half darkness, wonders if his mouth still tastes the same. 

 

“Ugh, I know. I’m being stupid,” Taylor says. She stares at Karlie hoping she’ll disagree with her and tell her that no! Talking to Harry is a _great_ idea! Karlie just keeps watching her with that same, soft, slightly sympathetic expression. Taylor drops her face into her hands and quietly screams. 

As if on cue her phone buzzes with a text. And then another. And another. 

_Hiiiiiiiii. You around?_

_I thought of a way to fix that hook you played for me the other day_

_Ring me back when you can and we’ll set something up to go out and I can go over it with you xxx_

Taylor thunks the phone against her forehead over and over again while Karlie pats her shoulder and rubs her back. 

*

“No, it’s got to have more of a pause in it,” Harry says. They’re sitting at a back table in a Starbucks in one of the quieter spots in their neighborhood. It’s an odd time - too late for lunch but too early for people to be out of work - and they’re pretty much the only ones there. Taylor brought her iPad and Harry’s got a tune of something saved on his phone, though for all she can hear it’s mostly a lot of mumbling and someone thumping their fist on a table. 

“This is all very high tech,” Taylor says. She sips her latte and grins at Harry over the edge of her cup. 

Harry stops fiddling with his phone long enough to smile back. He’s left his hair down today and pushed over one side of his head. Taylor has to resist the urge to tuck the one loose strand behind his ear. She wants to but she can’t. She sits on her hands instead. 

“No, no, wait. Listen.” Harry finally stops fiddling with his phone and she hears it then, his voice pitched low and gravelly over the speaker. She concentrates on what he did with the line, the spot he put the pause in, then rolls her finger in the air for him to play it for her again. 

“You hear it?” Harry asks. The line is playing on a loop now and Taylor wants to scream it’s so perfect. “It’s like, _there’s a difference between - bump bump - having some faith, and expecting a miracle_. You’ve got to hold the pause two full beats there in the middle.”

“Oh my god.” Taylor’s staring at the phone as if it’s just solved all of the world’s problems. Well, obviously not the _world_ but for her right now it’s solved a lot of them. “Oh my _god_ I could _kiss_ you.”

Harry laughs quietly. His cheeks go pink and Taylor sees the dimple press hard into his cheek before he drops his head and lowers his eyes. “‘M’glad you like it.”

“It’s perfect,” Taylor says truthfully. “I love it. It’s exactly what it needed.”

Harry grins at her then, and Taylor grins back, giddy with excitement. She can’t wait to get home and call Ryan to play it for him. They’ve been working on this song for ages and for her to tell him that Harry fixed what neither of them could manage to figure out is going to be amazing. 

“So hey,” Harry hedges. Taylor looks up from where she’s texting Ryan ( _OMG YOU WON’T BELIEVE IT!!! SONG IS FIXED!!!!_ ) and finds Harry staring down at the table, spinning his phone in circles. “This might be crap timing because we’ve been talking about work and stuff, but would you want to go out later?”

“Yeah, sure,” Taylor says. The little grey dots are blinking on the bottom of her screen and she can’t wait to see what Ryan’s got to say about the last song finally being able to be put to bed. “You want to do sushi again at that place from last week or--”

“No, like,” Harry’s interrupted her and something about his voice or the way she can see how straight he’s sitting in his chair now has her looking up, ignoring the answering _no FUCKING way_ that’s just come through on her phone. 

“I meant like, did you want to go _out_ ,” Harry repeats. “I’ll tell my people we’re going somewhere. I’ll come pick you up. We go in together and leave together. The whole thing.”

Taylor calmly puts her phone on the table. “I’m sorry. What?”

“A date,” Harry says firmly. He runs a hand through his hair and yanks on the ends. The stray piece Taylor wanted to fix is gone now, swept in with all the rest. “Do you want to have a date.”

Taylor licks her lips. She knows what she wants and she knows what she should do and they’re shockingly the same thing. 

“No,” she says, because no. _God_ no. “No, we’ve tried that and this now is...this is fine.”

“That doesn’t count though,” Harry insists. He’s got his bottom lip stuck out in a pout. Taylor thinks that look probably has a lot of women doing whatever it is he wants them to do. Taylor hopes he’s not going to be too disappointed. “That was ages ago. We didn’t even get a chance to do it proper.”

“ _Do it proper_ ,” Taylor teases. It lightens the mood a bit, and she smiles at him, reaching out to cover his hand with hers on the table. 

“Do you see this?” Taylor asks. She picks his hand up when he looks at her curiously and shakes it in the air a little. “This is us now, when it’s not a big deal if we meet for coffee or sushi or to write songs. This is good. This is fine. _That_? Us going on a date where we tell people and have cameras watching us? Not fine.”

“It could be different,” Harry says softly. 

Taylor nods but says, “Or it could not.”

Harry doesn’t say anything after that, just pulls his hand back and sighs quietly. Taylor feels bad, but then she doesn’t. This is her life too after all. 

“You know the feeling you get when you’re backstage just before a show starts?” Taylor asks. Harry looks up at her, his forehead wrinkled in confusion, but he nods. “When you’re so excited and terrified and thrilled and blessed and you feel like in that second, you’re the luckiest person in the entire world. Like if they could somehow bottle the feeling that’s bursting out from inside your chest at that _exact moment_ and sell it, no one would ever drink booze or do drugs or need anything else in life other than _that feeling_. Do you know that?”

Harry licks his lips. “Yeah.”

“I told myself a long time ago that until I felt that, until the feeling of being with someone managed to rival the joy I get hearing the crowds in a stadium screaming my name, that I would just be happy to be by myself.” Taylor shrugs and pats Harry’s arm. She crosses her legs under the table and Harry smiles back at her, small but genuine. “And I am happy. I’m super happy.”

Harry’s quiet for a second and then he shrugs. “Well alright then,” he says softly. She can tell he’s not happy about it, but he’s not pushing it either. That’s all Taylor can ask for, really. 

“Then I’ll be happy with just this as well,” he says.

*

Taylor is out for lunch with Karlie when a strange man in a bright red tuxedo comes up to her table. Karlie’s too busy texting on her phone to notice him at first, but Taylor does. She looks up and smiles at him easily while he stands stock still, hands behind his back and beaming at her. 

“Yes?” Taylor asks. 

Karlie finally looks up and stares from the man over to Taylor and then back again. “Uhm. Tay, do you know--”

“Good afternoon,” the man proclaims in a terribly fake British accent. He’s got short dark hair and a handlebar moustache. “Miss Swift, I presume?”

“You presume correctly,” Taylor says around a giggle. “And you are…?”

“I’m Stanley Sam the singing telegram man. Ma'am,” the man says proudly. 

Karlie’s mouth drops open. “Oh my god.”

Taylor squeezes her eyes shut. She just - this can’t be. They’re in a small pub in the Lower East Side. Things like this - singing telegrams by strange men in bright red velvet tuxedos don’t exist here. Or they shouldn’t at the very least. 

“I see,” Taylor says seriously. Stanley grins at her and clears his throat and, “Oh god. Okay. This is really happening I guess.”

He breaks out into song then, complete with a little horn he’s produced from his pocket that he toots along with in between singing terrible phrases about--

“Is he singing about your _album_?” Karlie asks. “The one that you just finished writing?” She’s got her head cocked to the side and her forehead is all wrinkled in concentration. “I can barely understand what he’s saying.”

“It’s definitely something about words,” Taylor says. She’s heard _words_ rhyming with _birds_ and _music_ rhyming with-- “Is _choose-ick_ a word?”

“This is _awful_ ,” Karlie says. She covers her ears with her hands and squeezes her eyes shut. Taylor would feel bad for the man but she’s fairly sure the whole _point_ of it is to be faily and awful, and that alone could only mean one thing.

“Did Harry send you?” Taylor says, trying to pitch her voice over Stanley’s warbling song. She needn’t have bothered though, because he’s finally wrapping up and the last line is indeed, “Looooooooove, Haaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrryyyyyyyyyyyy!"

Everything is silent when he finishes. There weren’t very many people in the pub to start with but whoever had been there is now dead quiet and staring over at their table. Stanley takes an exaggerated bow then spins on his heel and makes his way out of the restaurant. Taylor can see a lady at a table in the back clapping for him quietly while her date stares at Taylor and Karlie with his mouth hanging wide open. 

Taylor slowly turns to stare at Karlie who looks as stunned at Taylor feels. 

“Did Harry Styles just send you a singing telegram?” Karlie asks. She sounds like she’s bordering on hysterical.

Taylor can’t speak. She nods her head instead and pulls her phone from her purse. There’s already a text from Harry waiting for her, just a winking smiley face followed by _xxx_.

 _Do you have something you want to tell me??_ Taylor sends off. She’s seen Harry nearly every day in the past week and never once did he give any indication that he was planning anything as ridiculous as this. She would kill him if she wasn’t so genuinely charmed. That seems to be the way she and Harry work though. It’s kind of how they’ve always worked. 

_Oh! Did you get my surprise??_

Taylor covers her mouth with her hand to try and muffle the bark of laughter that comes bubbling up from her chest. Across the table Karlie is rolling her eyes so hard Taylor’s worried she’s going to give herself an aneurysm. She steps on Karlie’s foot and sticks her tongue out at her. 

_Yesssss. Karlie looks ready to do a murder_

_Oh boo. Tell her she’s no fun_.

“Harry says you’re no fun,” Taylor says without looking up from her phone. 

“Tell Harry I said he’s an idiot.”

 _She’s called you an idiot_ , she sends, and then before Harry has a chance to respond she adds, _But yes, I got your surprise. That was very...sweet_

_I just wanted to say congrats on finishing writing the album_

_You do know that words work for that too. Or sending a card. There wasn’t really any need for Stanley_

_Oh Taylor. There is ALWAYS a need for Stanley_ , Harry sends, and Taylor can’t help it. She covers her mouth and starts hysterically laughing. 

“Ugh, god, give me that,” Karlie says. “Your face is ridiculous.”

She kicks at Taylor’s leg and wiggles her fingers for Taylor’s phone. Taylor tries to wipe the grin off her face as she hands it over but she’s pretty sure it’s not working. Lord knows Karlie’s not going to stop until she sees what Harry’s saying for himself anyway. 

The longer Karlie scrolls, the more and more her eyebrows furrow. “Jesus Christ, he’s as big of a dork as you are.” Taylor would argue but Karlie’s handed her phone back with a single eyebrow arched and when Taylor looks down she sees that Harry’s just asked what Taylor’s plans are for the night and if she wants to get dinner. 

“You should do it, you know,” Karlie says seriously. “I know I’ve been teasing a lot but god, he’s perfect for you.”

“Shut up, he is not,” Taylor says, but as she’s sending back a text telling Harry that yes, sure, dinner would be great, she’s not too sure she believes herself anymore. 

*

 

Harry comes over that night instead of them going out. He brings takeout burgers and fries and milkshakes bigger than Taylor’s face, and they eat them on the couch in loose sweatpants and ratty t-shirts. Harry’s hair was still damp from his shower when he came over, and he twisted it up into a bun at the back of his head. He sits next to Taylor on the couch, legs tucked up under him like hers are, close enough that their knees touch. 

“Stop giving Meredith pieces of your bun,” Taylor says without looking up from her burger. 

Harry splutters and Taylor smiles to herself. She can see Meredith from the corner of her eye as she sniffs and jumps to the floor when Harry gives her a sad look and stops feeding her. 

Harry sighs. “And she was just starting to like me.”

“She wasn’t though. She was just playing you.”

Meredith turns her head at that and gives them both a withering glare before slinking over to where Olivia and Peggy are curled up on top of Harry’s jacket. They’d pulled it off the back of the chair five minutes after he came over and have been rolling around and spreading their fur all over it ever since. 

Taylor puts her burger back in the takeaway container and sets it all on the coffee table. “I hope you weren’t ever thinking of wearing that again.”

Harry pops the last bite of his food in his mouth and wipes his hands on his pants. “Apparently not.”

“It was designer wasn’t it.”

“Mmm. St. Laurent I reckon.”

Taylor _tsk_ s. “Pity.”

They both stare silently at the mound of cats on Harry’s jacket before Harry claps his hands together and stands up. Pieces of his hair are slipping out from the bun and framing his face, and he’s smiling brightly, taking Taylor by the hands and pulling her up from the couch. 

“Enough of that,” Harry says and tugs her after him into the kitchen. “I brought wine for us too and I’m sure you’ve got some fancy _I just finished writing an album_ glasses or summat, so let’s have them.”

“What?” Taylor pretends to gasp. She’s fairly sure she’s never told anyone about those glasses, _ever_. “What are you talking about?”

Harry stops walking and spins Taylor so she’s standing directly in front of him. She’s nearly as tall as he is, and from this close she can see the flecks of gold in his eyes, and the way she can tell he’s smiling at her without even seeing any other part of his face. “Oh my god,” he says slowly. “I was just taking the piss but you really _do_ have special glasses for when you finish writing an album, don’t you.”

Taylor feels her cheeks go hot. She looks down and bites her lip. Harry touches her chin. His fingers are warm and his skin is smooth. He tilts her face up and curves his hand to slide over her jaw, his thumb brushing lightly against her skin. 

“How did you know that?” she breathes out shakily. 

“Didn’t,” Harry says and shrugs. His eyes are green and his face is flushed and he’s looking at her like she’s the most important thing in the world. He’s touching her like she’s everything. “I just know _you_.”

It’s almost like once the words are out in the air everything in Taylor clicks into place, all of her insides shifting this way and that to allow room for all the feelings she’s been having for Harry to finally take root. She inhales slowly, letting it fill her lungs, letting the air sit still and the way the words are still hanging in the air swirl round and round in a constant loop, reminding Taylor that Harry isn’t just anyone. That he’s someone who _knows_ her. That he’s someone who she _knows_. 

“Shut up and don’t say anything,” Taylor says, and before Harry can speak she leans in and kisses him. 

It’s familiar and it’s not. She knows she’s kissed Harry before - Christ, everyone in the entire _world_ knows she’s kissed Harry before - but that was so long ago and they’ve both changed so much it doesn’t even seem like they’re the same people anymore. Harry leans into her when Taylor kisses him and his hands tighten on her face, his mouth wet and hot and a broken sound rumbling through his chest. She can feel his hands in her hair, the way he walks her back until she’s pressed against the wall, and it’s not enough, none of it is enough for how badly Taylor _wants_. 

She runs her hands up his chest, her fingers sliding under the thin material of his shirt and scratching her nails against his skin. She can feel where he’s already going hard, his dick pressed against her hip and she would think it’s time to slow down. That maybe she should stop and wonder about what they’re doing and if it’s the right thing and if they should stop. She knows she _should_ be thinking all of these things, but when it comes down to it, Taylor wants him. She wants him to kiss her and touch her and maybe fuck her and she’s tired of pretending she doesn’t. 

“Your hand,” she says, twisting her face to the side to breathe damply against Harry’s neck. She closes her eyes, bites her lip and covers his hand with hers where it’s resting against her throat. Her skin feels too tight, hot and electric, and she arches off the wall, pressing down on Harry’s palm when she guides his fingers over her neck, down her chest and side, fingertips tickling her belly. “Give me your hand.”

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” Harry says thickly. He bites his lip and groans as Taylor slides their fingers together and pushes them down the front of her pants. She’s already so wet, the insides of her thighs sticky and hot and every inch of her body aching. She curls her other arm around Harry’s waist and drags him in close, pressing her hand against his ass and making him rock his dick into the curve of her hip.

“Is this okay?” he asks and Taylor nearly laughs because only Harry could be unfailingly polite when all she wants is for him to get her off as quickly as possible. She’s crazy for him, almost frantic. Her insides feel all twisted up, like someone had a puzzle perfectly fit together and then came along at the last minute and tossed it into the air, breaking apart all the pieces and letting them fall back down into a jumbled mess on the floor. 

“Please,” she whines, then nearly bites through her lip when Harry slides his fingers over her and presses his thumb down firmly on her clit. 

It’s so much all at once, the way his hands feel and his breath on her neck and his hips going faster and faster, his movements unsteady and frantic the more he touches her. He kisses her again, breathing deep into her mouth and swallowing her moans as he slips a finger inside her, curling it gently and grinding the heel of his hand against her, letting her use him to get herself off. 

Taylor sinks her fingers into Harry’s hair and yanks the rubber band free that’s been holding it back and away from his face. His hair falls loose around her fingers and she cradles his face in her hands, kissing him desperately as her body tightens and she comes so hard her knees nearly buckle and leave her boneless on the floor. Harry keeps his hand on her until it’s almost too much, until the feel of his fingers cross over into pain from pleasure, and then she bites his lip and pulls on his hair until he shakes and comes right after her. 

All Taylor can hear then is pounding of her heart matched with Harry’s deep sigh. He drops his head against the curve of her shoulder and neck, and when he kisses her there it’s soft and sweet. It’s so far from the frantic and desperate way they’d just had each other, that all she can do is slump against the wall and let her head fall back, spots dancing in front of her eyes when she finally opens them and stares up at the ceiling. 

“Wow,” Taylor breathes. 

Harry laughs softly and gently bites at her skin. “Wow is right.”

She cards her hand through his hair slowly, fingertips tracing over the shell of his ear and tucking pieces of hair behind it delicately. She should probably think about what they’ve done and what it means and what they’re going to do about it now. She should probably talk to Harry. Tell him what she wants and what she doesn’t want and what she expects. She should definitely clean up the takeout containers and put away the leftovers and get the trash thrown out before one of the cats decides to wake up and have a feast in the middle of her living room with everything they’ve left out. 

There are a lot of things Taylor should be doing, is the point here, so when she tilts her head down and kisses Harry on the cheek, she doesn’t expect the words coming out of her mouth to be, “Let’s go to bed.”

Harry looks up at her though, and he looks young and sleepy and impossibly happy. “Yeah?” he asks. 

Taylor doesn’t even think twice. “Yeah,” she says, and takes his hand to lead him down the hall. 

*

She wakes in the morning to the sun shining bright through the skylights in her bedroom and Harry pressed up close against her side. He’s snoring softly and making her legs sweat where he’s got his calf nestled between hers, and from the side of her night table she can hear her phone buzzing with a text. 

_You made page 2_ Karlie had sent with a link to the New York Post. Taylor clicks into it a lot calmer than she thought she’d be in the moment when this finally happened. 

It’s a picture of Taylor and Harry when they were at lunch the day Harry had fixed the hook of the song she’d been writing. Ironically enough, it’s a shot of the two of them holding hands when Taylor waved them both around trying to explain to Harry how they were able to do that now because no one was watching. How it was so easy for them now compared to how hard it had been before. 

The irony is enough to make her choke. 

_Old Flames Don’t Quite Flicker Out_ , is the title of the article. Taylor makes a face and judges it because honestly, it could be better. She’s come to expect a lot more from New York papers. The article itself is crap - all speculation and no real kind of facts as far as the eye can see - and Taylor barely skims it, her eyes only half focused on the words and half focused on Harry, still sleeping soundly in her bed. 

She silently clicks off her phone and places it down on the corner of her night table. She thinks about being with Harry and not being with Harry and how the scariest thing of all is not having the nerve to risk getting hurt. She thinks about the basic things, the things she wants and needs in life.

She needs her family and her friends and her music. She needs someone who can make her laugh and someone who can make her happy and someone who can make her cry and hurt in the best way possible. She thinks she had that once - she didn’t realize it fully at the time - but hindsight being what it is and all she knew exactly when the moment was when she lost it. She knows now how much it hurt, and how regret is almost always worse than the pain of any kind of broken heart.

She’s not of a mind to do that again. 

Taylor stares up at the ceiling, counts to ten, and breathes out. 

“Okay,” she whispers to herself. “Fuck it.” Then she rolls over on top of Harry so she’s straddling his lap when he wakes up. 

Harry comes awake quickly, blinking up at her and grinning before settling his hands on her hips. She’s in a pair of red panties and a black tank top and she thinks, looking back, that if she’d ever thought about doing this again with him she probably pictured it a lot classier and with a bit more clothing involved. 

“So,” she says. 

Harry beams and his eyes crinkle. He’s got a line from her pillow pressed into the side of his cheek and about twelve hairs on his chin he’s going to need to shave before they go out later tonight. She thinks about the article in the Post and the rest that are surely out there and she knows she has to tell him about them and she will. After this. 

“Is the offer for that date still open?” she asks. He stares at her and he doesn’t get it and doesn’t get it and doesn’t get it, until the second he does. She can tell exactly when that is because his eyes go soft and he pulls her down, kissing her soundly on the mouth in answer. 

*

They go out that night to a fancy French restaurant both of their agents agree on. Harry wears a Burberry suit not even shown on the runways yet and Taylor wears a short, red dress she’s had hanging in her closet for ages. They take a car from her apartment and hold hands in the back the entire ride there and if Taylor’s nervous she tries not to let it show. The way Harry’s rubbing his thumb against her skin lets her know that he knows though, and that he gets it, and that it’s okay. 

They pull up at the curb and there’s already a group of paparazzi gathered in the front of the restaurant. Harry leans in and kisses her cheek. “You ready for this?” he asks. It’s so wildly different from the last time they did this, when she was ready and he wasn’t, and it settles her, reminds her that she’s doing what she wants and as long as she does that it can never be the wrong decision. 

“I am,” she says, and her voice doesn’t shake at all. 

Harry opens the door and gets out first, and Taylor can see the burst of light from the cameras. She can smell the cold air and she hears the cacophony of voices but when she looks up all she can see is Harry’s face and his smile and his hand reaching out for hers to help her from the car. 

Taylor takes his hand. She’s going to take it all, actually. Every single thing she wants and she’s going to start right here, right now, with this boy. 

She looks out of the car and the cameras click. She feels excited and terrified and thrilled and blessed. 

She steps to the pavement and takes a deep breath and she can swear she hears the crowds scream her name.

 

-end-


End file.
